Hola, mis amigos. Que placer saludarlos este domingo. A partir de hoy estaré compartiendo, una vez más, otra de las historias que he escrito. Espero la disfruten.
Luego de unos meses de conquista, me invitó a Copelia y por supuesto, al Malecón. Típico, que falta de originalidad y sobre todo de economía, pensé. Claro, no hay mejor forma que esa, para los de nuestra clase, de hacerle creer a alguien que buscan un noviazgo serio. Acepté con mis reservas, pero él tenía algo que inquietaba mis sentidos detrás de aquella apariencia esperpéntica, tal vez su verbo, su pronunciada nuez de Adán o sus gruesas venas que, sin lugar a dudas, eran un marcado signo de virilidad. Algo si estaba claro, el sujeto no era gente de bolsillos llenos.
Hello, my friends. What a pleasure to greet you this Sunday. Starting today, I will be sharing, once again, another one of the stories I have written. I hope you enjoy it.
After a few months of courting, he invited me to Coppelia and, of course, to the Malecón. Typical, how unoriginal and, above all, how lacking in economy, I thought. Of course, for people of our class, there’s no better way to make someone believe they’re looking for a serious relationship. I accepted with my reservations, but there was something about him that stirred my senses beneath that outlandish appearance—maybe his way with words, his prominent Adam’s apple, or his thick veins, which were undoubtedly a marked sign of virility. One thing was clear: the guy wasn’t from a wealthy background.
-Gracias por elegirnos.
We agreed to meet on Saturday at two o’clock sharp in front of Coppelia. That day, I confess I didn’t know what to wear—first dates are crucial—so I chose tight pants and a fitted sweater to highlight my assets and charms. Considering the terrible transportation situation, I left my house at twelve noon. I thought it was a reasonable amount of time to arrive punctually for my date. How naive of me—I barely managed to get on the only bus that came after waiting at the stop for an hour. Several kilometers passed before I made my way near the driver, who, with a sarcastic smile and as if we had many options, said to me:
-Thanks for choosing us.
I couldn’t help but burst into laughter at that absurdity, as his remark and dark humor momentarily pulled me out of the annoyance and discomfort I was feeling. I was standing on one foot, in the middle of July, with the smells of Galician and African ancestors mixing with cheap perfumes. There wasn’t an inch of space left in that rolling contraption. To get through the difficult moment, I did several deep breathing exercises and tried to think about how much fun I would have with my new suitor. I never managed to reach the exit door; I spent the entire trip next to the friendly driver, who kept looking at me with a certain indiscretion and sideways glances. Like someone who wants to say something but doesn’t dare.
A sudden lack of air forced me to get off halfway there. That’s when I had to “face head-on” the rental cars and pay an amount equivalent to a day’s wage to reach my destination. It was three o’clock and one minute when I arrived. The line at Coppelia seemed endless, and from the crowd, my aspiring boyfriend waved at me. Happy to see me, he confessed his worry that I might not come due to some prejudice.
So after two hours under the sun, standing in line, we each managed to get two scoops of guava ice cream—the only flavor available during those summer days. Resigned to the lack of variety and quality but with full bellies and happy hearts, we headed down the ramp toward Havana’s very crowded sofa (the Malecón wall). Dusk was falling, and we settled into my favorite spot. The same place where I sat years ago for the first time to admire the architectural beauty of a castle-shaped hotel and where I saw, with fright and amazement, a well-endowed, muscular dark-skinned man masturbating while sitting on the “diente de perro” at one in the afternoon.
Continuará...
For mysterious and otherworldly reasons, or perhaps due to the power of attraction and divine providence, I always found “my spot” empty. It was as if the other Malecón-goers knew I was coming that day and had it reserved for me. I liked to believe that story. We put our phones on airplane mode to enjoy a few detoxifying hours away from social media. We followed to the letter what any self-respecting average citizen would do. Even as working-class people, we have protocols and, more than that, dignity in place of exclusivities.
To be continued...
Gracias por visitar mi blog
Texto e imágenes de mi propiedad
Thanks to visite my blog
Text and imagen are my own